Not only did said cold keep us housebound on Friday, it is also producing copious amounts of nasal drippage. (And why is it that young men, or at least my young man, seems most affectionate and willing to give his mama a kiss when he has a leaky nose?)
We have not yet introduced the concept of nose-blowing, handkerchiefs, and facial tissues to LO. He has only just outgrown the dreaded nose squeegee bulb--and by outgrown, one means that he has gotten big and strong enough that it is impossible to accurately squeegee his nose and his mother has fears she'll poke his eye out with the squeegee, so she has retired it. Whenever I attempt to help the young man remove some unpleasantness from between his nose and his upper lip with a tissue or wet wipe, he angrily turns his head aside and makes it as clear as body language will allow that he will find alternative methods for snot removal.
On Saturday, while I unloaded the dishwasher, LO came into the kitchen in a state of deep distress. He had apparently sneezed a Cyrano-worthy sneeze, and was icked out by the result. As I reached for a tissue, he grabbed my leg and very definitively wiped his nose on my jeans. He then gave me a sunny smile--"I feel so much better now, Mama!"--and returned to playing.
Well, at least I know my place in the world.
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